September 21st
The day started out foggy. It was a creepy climb up the creek. A lot of blown down trees that emerged through the fog. Eventually I got up on the ridge. It was a beautiful view. But throughout the day the weather wavered from clouds to clear. Indeed, I could be on top of a ridge and one side would be thick clouds while the other side was clear.
By afternoon, I started hearing some elk. I was on a ridge before entering the canyon that contained the Knife Edge. The elk bugling got louder. I looked down and saw a herd of elk. The bull was fending off another bull. It wasn’t the Mutual of Omaha, locked-horns drama, but the young guy was not giving up. After a while my scent must’ve blown down the hill. A second herd of elk, this one higher up towards me, trotted downhill past the first herd. The first bull now had a herd running through his territory plus the young guy. Rather than stress him further, I mosied on.
The next canyon over had the Knife Edge. This was a quarter mile long gash carved into the shale side of a mountain. It dropped almost a thousand feet. The weather was getting worse as the wind picked up, the drizzle started and the sun slipped down to the horizon behind the clouds. I got out my trekking poles and went for it. It was not as scary as I had feared. I made the hairpin turn at the tip and then entered a canyon where the rain was constant.
I searched for some small flat spot spot where I could pitch my tent. Finally I found a crappy spot that would suffice. It was on a bluff and had a couple trees to block wind.
Trying to sleep on an inflated sleeping pad on a slope is always an exercise in surprises. At one point you wake up and you’ve slid on top of a root you didn’t notice. Another time you’ll awake to find you’ve slid to the edge of the tent. To make matters worse, I apparently had selected a site dead center of the elk equivalent of the bachelorette. There must’ve been four different bulls at locations all bellowing / bugling all night.
backpacking over the hill 